


The Dye Is Cast - Drabbles

by ladyamesindy



Series: Dragon Age: The Dye Is Cast [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 11,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyamesindy/pseuds/ladyamesindy
Summary: This is a collection of drabbles and writing prompts from over on Tumblr that involve characters from my canon vision of Dragon Age.
Relationships: Alistair (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Nathaniel Howe & Female Hawke, Sebastian Vael & Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Dragon Age: The Dye Is Cast [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798975
Kudos: 7





	1. You're Out of Your Damned Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing prompt: You're out of your damned mind
> 
> Serafina MacKinnon, Aedan Cousland, Alistair Theirin, Leliana

“You’re out of your damned mind.”

The only response he receives is silence. 

He glances over at his fellow Warden to find a look that is equal parts exasperation and frustration along with a healthy dose of admiration for good measure. Aedan sighs, reluctantly acknowledging he will get no support from that quarter. Not that he really expected to, but hope springs eternal.

Running a hand through his hair, his attention returns to his friend. “Did you hear me?”

She kneels just outside of the tent, her focus on the pack in front of her. “By now, all of Ferelden and half of Orlais has heard you, Shield.”

Alistair coughs to cover a laugh, but Aedan’s face darkens into a scowl aimed directly at her. “Fina –.”

She rises, hefting the bag to her shoulder. Soft footsteps approached behind him, but stop just out of his gaze. He doesn’t need to see her to know Leliana is ready too.

Serafina grabs her travel cloak and throws it around her shoulders with casual flair. Before she reaches for the clasp, Alistair is there securing it for her. She tilts her head toward him, leans up on her toes to kisses his cheek. “Thank you.”

The former templar peeks over at Aedan; he can’t miss the glower still aimed at Serafina. “He has a point, you know,” he says plainly. “It’s far too dangerous to –.”

Serafina’s lips curve slightly; just a hint of a smile and a glint of amusement in her deep blue eyes. “Alistair, when will you learn that Shield _always_ thinks the situation is far too dangerous for a rogue to handle?” She trades a quick knowing glance with Leliana who giggles and nods. When it only seems to stir Aedan’s ire more, she finally acknowledges him. “State your concerns.”

For just a moment, the past comes back to haunt. _State your concerns._ The same words Sir Michael used during their training days whenever they, as pages, protested pairings in the ring. Belatedly, he recalls, no one was ever been able to convince the man to change them. “You are heading into the belly of the beast,” he declares, hoping she might see things differently. Gesturing between himself and Alistair, he adds, “Loghain has a price on our heads –.”

She nods once, curtly. “I am aware.”

“And as Arl of Denerim, Howe now has control of the city and the guards.”

The first flicker of emotion crosses her face; her eyes darken defiantly; her smile reconstructs as a snarl. “I know how to deal with his men.”

It is on the tip of his tongue to remind her how it turned out the last time, but he doesn’t. _You do, don’t you? You handled them for months. Alone._ It is a useless argument where she is concerned anyway, because she is as loyal to the Cousland family as he is. They might as well be blood relations. “I know that,” he says as he rests one hand on her shoulder. They are nearly the same height, and their eyes meet level with one another. “But keep this in mind – I need you here with us far more than I need information from Denerim.”

Her eyes flicker over to Leliana’s briefly before returning to him. Echoing his movement, her smile returns. “Shield, the longer this goes on, the less chance we have of success,” she insists. “Trust me, I know what I’m about. This is what I was trained to do.” Slipping from beneath his grasp, she grabs her lute and joins the other bard. With one last glance back at the two men, she clarifies, “What _we_ ,” she gestures between her and Leliana, “were trained to do.” Without another word, the two women depart.

Watching them leave, Alistair says quietly, “She’s right, you know.”

With a grumble and a curse beneath his breath, Aedan mutters once she is well out of earshot, “She always is.”


	2. Is It Possible To Sleep For Two Days?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing prompt: Is it possible to sleep for two days?
> 
> Meaghan and Bethany Hawke

“You look exhausted.”

Meghan snorts softly, all but falling into the chair in an undignified heap. “You, sister dear, have a knack for understating the obvious.” She sighs then adds beneath her breath, “Why did I sit down? It’s going to take the Maker’s own ass effort to get back up again…”

Bethany giggles before kneeling next to her sister. She smirks as her fingers pick at the laces of Meghan’s boots. “You really did a number on them this time,” she observes, mentally noting every fray and burn that marks them and the leather. “Where did you and Aveline go?”

The first boot slips free and the elder Hawke releases a groan of appreciation. “Trust me,” she says, peeking through slitted lids, “you don’t want to know.”

Bethany repeats the process with the other boot, not speaking again until it is off. “That bad?”

“That bad.”

She stands and offers her sister a hand. Meghan considers refusing, she is so close to falling asleep and the chair is at the very least stable and not moving, but she knows if she stays here, Uncle Gamlen will never let her hear the end of it. With another groan, she forces herself to her feet.

Bethany catches her under the shoulder. “That scratch along your cheek is new.”

“Leave it.”

“But your temper certainly hasn’t changed,” she concludes as if she hasn’t been interrupted.

They maneuver into the bedroom where Meghan falls upon her mattress the moment Bethany lets go. “Aren’t you going to clean up?” the younger Hawke asks in confusion.

“I’m exhausted …”

With a sniff of irritation, Bethany loosens some of the straps and buckles of her sister’s leathers. “At least take your armor off so you can be comfortable.”

Face down in her pillow, Meghan mumbles something incomprehensible. Bethany laughs. “Try that again, sister, but so I can understand you!” she teases.

Meghan rolls her head to the side just enough for sound to escape and be understood. “Is it possible to sleep for two days …?”


	3. Quaeritate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing prompt: Quaeritate - to question, to inquire
> 
> Meaghan Hawke and Nathaniel Howe

The fortress of Skyhold is beautiful, even if repairs aren’t quite complete. But that doesn’t mean it is without its faults. If guests are given some of the better quarters, Meghan Hawke shudders to think how those who live in tents or haphazard shacks survive in the chilly air so prevalent this high up in the Frostbacks. 

Perhaps that is where the impetus for packing came from, or maybe it’s the meticulous need for everything to be ‘just so’ inside her bag. It certainly isn’t from any anticipation or worry about the next leg of her journey. No, if anything, the task before her is more complicated that she could have ever foreseen. Without Stroud beside her, despite their differences, how is she to get in to see the First Warden, to explain what happened in Adamant and why the Wardens’ future is so in peril?

“What are you doing?”

Meghan sighs, pulling her hands free of the bag before turning toward the doorway. A shadow fills it, the sunlight bright just beyond its edge, but she recognizes the shape standing there no matter the backdrop. “What does it look like?” she counters, grasping for her usual sass whenever he is around. 

The shadow steps forward into the relative warmth of the room and closes the door behind him. Without the sunlight, the shape settles more easily. An unexpected sigh escapes her lungs without permission. The soft smirk at his lips assures her he hears, and he approaches with a catlike grace she has always admired in him. It is impossible not to respond with her own smirk as he stops and towers over her, his lips close enough she can feel his breath across her face. Eyes holding his and flaring with amusement, she teases, “Intimidation tactics? From you?”

The silence holds for just a second or two before the rumble of laughter begins deep in his belly, bubbling upward to escape his lips. He closes the distance between them, gently yet firmly kissing her, then retreats a step. “Perhaps,” he allows, “unless you have packed my bag as well?”

Throwing her arm in the direction of the chair near the hearth, she replies, “You Wardens carry very little, whereas I have –.”

“Your entire life in one bag?” 

Hands on hips, she sticks her tongue out at him. He laughs, the most delightful music to her ears, and one she has missed for so long now. “We Fereldans are used to packing up at a moment’s notice to evacuate,” she says tartly.

His laughter fades and it was impossible to miss the sorrow in his eyes as he walks back to her. He lifts a hand to her face, mindful of the injury there, and brushes her dark hair out of her eyes. “We are, indeed,” he rumbles. He glances around the room then, taking note of the changes since the previous night. “Are you ready to go, then?”

She flips the cover over her bag and secures it before slinging it over her shoulder. “So many questions today,” she murmurs as she walked past him to retrieve her daggers, slipping them easily into their sheaths at her hips.

“You will have plenty of time to answer them all,” he assures her. 

He reaches a hand out toward her, which she accepts as her lips turn upward. “Is it selfish that I’m glad you are the Warden travelling with me?”

His eyebrow arches. “Now who is full of questions?”

She pulls their joined hands to her left breast, holding it there for a moment. “I … It’s been so _long_ , Nathaniel,” she breathes softly, sadness filling her eyes at the lost time. “I wish –.”

He pulls their hands upward so he can press his lips to her knuckles. “Perhaps your wish will answer some of my questions?”

Her head dips down, but not before she feels the heat rise in her cheeks. Still, her lips curve into a pleased smile. “Perhaps.” 

“Then we should get on the road,” he says, leading her toward the doorway, “so that those questions can have their answers found.”


	4. I Couldn't Sleep You've Been Gone Far Too Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing prompt: I couldn't sleep you've been gone far too long
> 
> Sebastian Vael and Cassandra Pentaghast

She enters the palace as quietly as possible, scoffing in disgust as one guard and then another comes to attention. She half thinks to tell them to stand down and hush or they will wake the Prince. In the end, she doesn’t; it just isn’t worth the effort necessary, and it would inevitably cause more ruckus.

She makes her way to the ante-chamber off their room, removing her armor, taking time to clean up. It has been five weeks this time, much of it spent on the road, and she would remove the signs of travel lest he notice how it accentuates her exhaustion. He is observant, her Prince, though at times like this it annoys her.

Changing into something soft and clingy, an indulgence on her part but one he prefers, she slips through the doorway. There is little light save the moonbeams shining in from the balcony doors left ajar. But it is enough. She can see well enough to get by quietly, well enough to see _him_ as he lies sprawled across the bed, face down. A pillow, _her_ pillow lies longways, his well-muscled arm wrapped securely around it. His breathing is deep, calm. 

As she reaches the bedside, she pauses to watch closely for a long minute during which a soft smile curves at her lips. It is a warm night, thus the open balcony doors, and one stray curl has plastered itself to the side of his temple. Not a woman given to such things, she finds it adorable, and hopes Varric never hears of it. Such moments as this are personal, private, and not meant for his smutty literature. 

The curl is a temptation she cannot resist, and leaning across the bed, she carefully, gently uses her finger to pull it free ….

From one heartbeat to the next, she is suddenly staring up at the ceiling, her wrist caught inside strong fingers. Looming over her is the face of the man she loves far too much. They are an improbable match, at times an impossible one, and yet, they would have it no other way. 

Blue eyes, very wide and fully alert stare back at her as his full lips curve upward. She mock pouts and pushes at his very broad and completely bare chest. She pretends to be irritated; he pretends to have the upper hand. Both know how it will end.

“You are awake!” she points out needlessly.

His laughter is as warm as the kiss he presses to her lips. “I couldn’a sleep,” he explains. “You have been gone far too long, my dear Seeker…”


	5. An Abandoned or Empty Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing Prompt: An abandoned or empty place.
> 
> Serafina MacKinnon-Theirin and Alistair Theirin

The frame of the house is now darkened, rotted wood that has lost battles with fire, sea air, and time. But it still stands. Its refusal to succumb is a testament to the people of the small fishing village and their persistence. Of _her_ determination. He cannot view it and not be reminded of that. It only reinforces the strength of their relationship.

He remembers their first visit here, together, as if it was yesterday. The day. The hour. The _minute_. _One moment she stands pale and trembling, fear marking her deep blue eyes, unable to hide behind her usual mask of neutrality. In the next, anger as fierce as any storm upon the Waking Sea roils as she leads the way forward against an unknown foe._ It was here her life fell apart … and then slowly started to rebuild itself. He remembers it all.

Patiently, he stands behind her, an arm wrapped around her shoulder in support. A bittersweet smile crosses his lips as she leans into the half embrace. _So much lost here … and so much found._ “Love,” he murmurs after some minutes, “we should go.” Beyond the edge of the cliffs, he sees storm clouds moving in. If they do not leave soon, they will be drenched.

She turns and he sees she is valiantly fighting back tears, even after all of these years. Reaching up, he brushes a few loose strands of hair from her eyes and tucks them behind one delicate ear. She remains silent, but reaches for his hand and laces their fingers with his. With a small nod of agreement, he guides her back in the direction of the village center.

“Do you mind that we stop here each time we travel this way?” 

Her words are caught in the wind and nearly yanked away before he hears them. His hand tightens around hers and he carefully, somewhat playfully, bumps her shoulder with his. _This way_ puts them a couple of days west of Highever. “You know the answer to that,” he chides gently. “Next silly question?”

A wry smile forms on her lips and she manages a soft laugh and ducks her head to hide her embarrassment. It’s a very rare thing for her; she is as cool under pressure as anyone he has ever met, and considering the number of Orlesians that includes, that says something. Yet, this is the only place he has ever seen her not herself, and he understands why. But even a queen cannot be strong all the time, and he’s glad she leans on him when those moments come. 


	6. In A Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing Prompt: How you said I love you. In a letter.
> 
> Alistair Theirin, Casey MacKinnon-Theirin, Serafina MacKinnon-Theirin

“What are you doing?”

He sits at his desk, his attention on the piece of parchment in front of him and the quill in his hand, but until this moment, he can’t focus. Some days it’s absolutely dreadful being king, but he hides it as best he can because he knows it’s better than the alternative.

Turning, he finds a pair of bright blue eyes framed by ebony locks peering in through a crack in the door. _So like your mother,_ he thinks. His eyes travel to the guard standing at attention just inside. Burke, today, and the man old enough to be the king’s father appears to be having trouble keeping his normal stern expression. Looking back over at the child, he replies, “I am doing king-y things. What are you doing? Did your mother send you to find me?”

He can just barely make out a hint of a smile that curves upward from the shadows, the soft echo of a childish giggle. “I’m practicing.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

Pushing away from the desk, he remains seated. “What are you practicing?”

“Bard-y things.”

He coughs to hide his amusement. _So VERY much like your mother!_ Burke clears his throat. “I hesitate to ask,” the king says next, “but what _kind_ of bard-y things?”

She has to use both hands to push the door open, but with one hand from Burke it moves easily enough. She rushes into the room in a blur. Alistair scoops her up into his arms when she is within arm’s reach, greeting her with a hug, a snuggle, and a just the hint of a tickle at her ribs. She squeals, throwing her arms around his neck. “Papa, stop!”

He does, settling her on his lap. It amazes him, how this young child, barely five years old now, accepts him as ‘papa.’ He knows the truth, but it matters not. He hopes she understands that when she is older. 

Wide blue eyes look up at him; his heart flutters at the innocence in them. “What king-y things?” she asks.

His lips twitch and he gestures at the desktop. “I am trying to write a letter.”

“Can I help?”

Briefly, he wonders how the Prince of Starkhaven would respond to receiving such a letter. “How about,” he says, reaching for the quill and parchment again, “you help me write it?”

“Really?” She bounces up and down on his leg.

He nods. “I know Hannah has been teaching you.” Carefully, he helps her grasp the quill and scoots his chair as close to the desk as possible. Wrapping his large hand around her tiny one, he asks, “I was going to write a letter to your mother -.”

She giggles. “Mama is in the library!”

He grins. “Well, then, we can write it and then deliver it in person!” Guiding her hand with his own, he dips the quill in ink then hovers over the page. “What would you like to say?”

She tips her head to the side as she thinks. “Dear Mama,” she begins. Alistair helps her form the words. “I love you!”

Chuckling, he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Straight and to the point, I see. Perhaps I should have you write _all_ of my letters?” If only. “Alright, my dear, would you like to sign it?”

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth as she looks up at him, nodding. “Hannah taught me to write my name.”

Alistair removes his hand and watches. His heart fills with pride and love as she works so hard to write Casey, and in the end, if he tilts his head a little to the right, he can just see how the letters spell it out. “Perfect!” he says, plucking the quill from her hand and setting it aside. The ink dries and he rolls up the parchment, setting the king’s seal to hold it closed. Then with a broad smile and a wink, he asks, “Shall we go find her?”

Casey hops to the floor, grasping his hand and tugs hard before he’s even halfway to his feet. “Let’s go!” Alistair stumbles after her. Really, he has no choice in the matter.

Burke follows behind, still struggling against a grin…


	7. Unique Just Means Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing Prompt: Unique just means alone.
> 
> Casey MacKinnon-Theirin, Fergus Cousland

“Why me?”

The Teyrn of Highever sighs as he sits back from his desk, his eyes drifting across the room to meet blazing blue daggers. “Because you are unique,” he replies. Casey snorts, a sound of disgust he’s heard many a time in his life, occasionally from her mother.

“Unique just means alone,” she protests. “Do I not have a say in this?”

He rises and walks over to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. At seventeen, she’s nearly as tall as he is. “Of course you have a say,” he assures her first and foremost. “No one is pressuring you to go.”

“Then why _me_?”

He considers how best to approach her question for a moment before saying, “Follow me.”

He leads her out of his office and through the halls of the keep until they reach the library. It is quiet inside and, more importantly to his purpose, it is empty. To their left is the door to what used to be his father’s office long ago. Fergus hadn’t had the heart to make it his, and ever since he’s kept it shut away. But today …

Drawing the curtains open provides just enough light to see by, and he gestures Casey inside. She follows quickly and closes the door behind her; she knows the rules for this room as well as anyone here. “Come over here,” he says as he reaches for an item off the bookshelf next to him. Lifting it, he holds it in the palm of his hand so she can see it. “Do you know what this is?”

He watches as she tilts her head, examining it in close detail, and for just a moment he is very much reminded of her mother. Quiet, understated curiosity. A smile pulls at his lips and he makes a mental note to share that with the queen the next time he writes her. 

“It looks like a brooch,” she replies finally, straightening and looking up at him. 

“It is.” He nods at her to take it and examine more closely. When she does, he explains quietly, “Oriana wore that the first time we met in Orlais.”

Casey’s brows pinch together in a frown. Fergus coughs to hide a smile; he has told her the story of the trip he and her mother took many times. “My point,” he continues, “is that you never know what may happen. Had I not gone to Orlais, I would never have met her, and my life would surely have been lesser for it.”

She hands back the brooch with care. “But you want me to go to the Free Marches. That is hardly the same thing.”

Fergus sighs. “I would like you to, yes, but I will not make you go if you really do not wish to,” he replies. “As I said, you are unique; you have established contacts over there who may be able to assist you where anyone else I would send does not.”

Casey wanders over to stare out the window. It looks out over the Waking Sea in the direction of Kirkwall, as Fergus recalls. After several minutes, she tucks her dark hair behind her ear and turns to face him. “Did my mother or father put you up to this?”

He cannot hold back a chuckle this time. “No,” he replies quickly when he sees the fire light behind her eyes again. “To begin with, Serafina would ask, not try to badger you –.”

“Not true!” Casey insists, though her lips are curling fondly. “Her training makes her a professional badger.”

For the briefest of moments, and completely against his will, Fergus suddenly envisions a badger that looks like Casey and her mother … and his laughter does not stop. It takes him several minutes to pull himself together, by which time he is leaning against the bookshelf for support. “You,” he gasps, sparing a quick glance in her direction to see the wide grin spreading across her face, “you will be the death of me, I swear!”

Chuckling, Casey walks back over and pats him on the back. “I will take that as a compliment, Your Grace,” she replies bowing formally, “as I have heard you say the same to my mother before.” She offers him a wink and turns toward the door. “Yes, I will go; of course I will, and you knew I would. If it means an opportunity to see my father again, I cannot turn it down.” She pauses in the doorway and looks back at him, her eyes sharp and clear. “You know that as well.” With that, she leaves.

Fergus sighs as he recovers himself enough to close up the room. On his way to find his wife to alert her that yes, Casey would accompany her on the trip, he wonders to himself, _Why did I ever think I could outthink or outmaneuver a bard?_


	8. How Do You Feel About This One?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing Prompt: How do you feel about this one?
> 
> Casey MacKinnon-Theirin, Alistair Theirin, Serafina MacKinnon-Theirin, Unnamed father of Casey

“How do you feel about this one?”

Casey stares at the dagger in Papa’s hand. Warily, she reaches out for it, but the minute it’s in her hand, she shakes her head and drops it. “No.”

Alistair sighs and looks around the armory while scratching his head. “You don’t want a sword and shield,” he glances down to see Casey shaking her head again, “and you don’t want a dagger. I’m not sure what else …”

Tilting her head up at him, she smiles. “I want a bow,” she says.

Alistair blinks. Memories of the Blight return, of the few times he relied on the weapon to save his or his companions’ hides. None of them ended particularly well. “Well …”

“Mama says Father can teach me,” Casey insists. 

For the first time since coming in here, he sees her eyes sparkling with hope. _Father._ Crouching down in front of her, he reaches a hand out to tuck dark hair behind one ear. It’s getting longer now and stays put. “Your Father, huh?” She gasps, a soft sound filled with worry, and she starts to wring her hands together. Reaching out, he pulls her close so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders. “You know,” he says quietly, conspiratorially, “you’re a very lucky young lady.”

Casey blinks, startled. “I am?”

He nods. “You get to have a Papa,” he gives her a wide, reassuring, cheesy grin, “ _and_ a Father.” He sighs dramatically. “One who, at least, is known for his expertise with the bow.” Standing back up again, he settles his hand on he shoulder. “Have you asked him yet?”

Biting her lower lip, she nods. “He said yes.”

“Right then. Why don’t you go find him and your mother, and bring them both to our private armory.”

Her eyes widen, hopeful. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course, I do!” She starts running off, as fast as her young legs can carry her, as he laughs. Once she is out of the door, he waves the guard over and informs him of the change of plan.

He arrives at what he affectionately calls the _Warden’s Armory_ , because it’s where he’s kept some of the armor and weapons he still has from the Blight. Inside, he locates the proper weapons rack and examines the bows held there. He knows little of the weapons themselves, except that he doesn’t like being on the receiving end, but it isn’t for him to choose.

The door opens, and he glances over to find Casey tugging expectantly on her mother’s hand as she enters the room. Serafina is laughing, murmuring something to the man following in behind her. Alistair smiles when his wife looks over. He isn’t sure why he decided to take Casey to the armory today, of all days. After all, she is only just eleven, but something about the decision feels right. He watches Serafina’s gaze shift to the weapon rack then back to him. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she smiles and nods. 

Casey runs over to Alistair, her eyes locked onto the variety of bows nearby. Some are nearly as big as she is. “Which one?” she breathes.

“That,” Alistair replies as he meets the gaze of the man standing next to him, “is for your Father to decide.” Winking at his wife, he adds in an undertone, “I have no skill with these things!”

Casey looks up at both men, her eyes flitting back and forth before settling on her father. As he steps forward to examine the choices, Alistair moves over to Serafina’s side and slides an arm around her waist. “She is so like you, I felt sure she would choose the daggers,” he whispers.

Serafina chuckles. “She has some of her father in her,” she reminds him gently.

Alistair’s arm tightens. “And for that, I am glad.”


	9. If You Don't Want To Talk ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing Prompt: If you don’t want to talk about what happened, then say so. Don’t just lie and say it’s fine.
> 
> Casey MacKinnon-Theirin, Sean MacKinnon

He stands in the doorway, eyes watching her like a hawk. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about what happened, then say so. Just don’t lie and say it’s fine.” 

She freezes halfway across the room. Her head tilts slightly, just the merest hint of a glance back in his direction. He needs to get her attention; he supposes he has. 

“Do you plan to tell Mama?” she asks, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Sean MacKinnon straightens and takes a step toward her. He doesn’t have the skill her mother has at masking his expressions, but he does have years more experience at life. “Do I need to?”

Casey turns to face him fully; at seventeen, she looks far too much like his twin at that age, perhaps with a bit more of an attitude. Hands at her hips, at full height, she stands just a scant inch shorter than her mother which puts her just below nose-height to him. Her chin is thrust into the air; he can see her weighing her decision. He takes another step. She remains where she is. 

“Will you report me to the teyrn?”

A flutter of unease fills his chest, but he keeps his composure. Just. “I am here as your uncle, not as your commander,” he says.

From one moment to the next, she deflates; sighing heavily, she drops to the edge of the bed and sits. “They were being rude,” she mutters, covering her face with her hands.

Sean frowns, moves a step closer. “Who?”

“Haskell.”

The name sends ice racing through Sean’s veins. _Haskell? Is he at it again?_ The past, it seems, still has the power to haunt and hurt. “Damon Haskell?”

Casey lifts her head and he can see tears filling them. “Yes.” 

It’s barely a croak; he reads her lips more than hears her, but it’s enough. Three steps later, he takes a knee in front of her, braces his hands on her young shoulders. “Damon Haskell is nothing but a bitter man who cannot get past old perceived hates,” he advises. “He rants and rages at life but does nothing to try to improve his position in it.”

Deep blue eyes pierce lighter blue. “He says Mama is responsible for his sister’s death.”

A scowl forms at his brow, dark and menacing. It is enough to make the troops fall quickly and quietly into line for inspection. His niece, however, does not cower. “Rendon Howe alone is responsible for that,” he spits out. Truth be told, the old anger is still there, buried deep to be sure, but still present all these years later. “Your mother has told you the story, hasn’t she?”

Casey nods. “She has. She warned me about him, too.”

“Your mother,” Sean insists, gentling his tone just a bit, “did what was necessary to keep the town folk of Highever safe at that time. That is all. Sadly, Haskell’s sister was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He pauses. Considers. Tilting his head again, curiosity filling him, he asks, “What did you do?”

She sniffs and swipes her forearm across her nose before blowing softly at loose dark tresses that fell into her eyes. “He was drinking,” she explains. “Geier, Stephens, Loftis and I were minding our own business. I got up to get us another round and he was at a nearby table.” She sighs again. “Must’ve been deep in his cups and thought I was Mama or something, because he called me those names she warned me about.”

Sean winces. He remembers that talk with Serafina during her first visit back to Highever after the Blight. “She told you?”

Casey nods. “You know Mama.”

Sighing, he nods. That he does. “And what happened then?”

A sly grin curves at the teens lips as a coy look forms in her eyes. “I am my mother’s daughter, am I not?”

 _Oh, shit!_ In an attempt to remain stern, he scolds, “Your mother, as I recall, avoids him.”

The grin widens. “I am also my uncle’s niece.”

It takes a moment to fully comprehend her words. “How did you hear – oh, hell, Josie told you, didn’t she?”

Casey shrugs. In a singsong voice, she replies, “Maybe.”

Rising to his feet, Sean paces the room. Memories of facing Damon Haskell after a round of drinks at _The Leeky Bucket_ under similar circumstances flash through his head. Drunken insults, immediate anger, bloody knuckles and a broken nose. He knows the story has been embellished over the years by the soldiers under his command, he knows his wife has helped with that. He glances over at his niece and asks, “And how did Damon fare this time?”

Casey rises, the grin still in place. “No one saw, uncle,” she assures him. “I simply coaxed him out back into the alley and we had a … discussion.”

 _Discussion_. His eyes drop to her hands to assess the damage. She is an archer, one of the best he’s ever seen. And yet, her hands appeared fine. Frowning, he looks back at her face, recognizes the smugness now there. “Casey …”

Walking over, she hugs him. “Do you really want to know the details, uncle?”

He shivers, reminded again of his twin. He’s learned the hard way that when she uses that voice, you really do not want to know. He runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. “Probably not,” he mutters. He returns the hug. “Do I need to inform Fergus what happened?”

A soft chuckle slips past her lips. “No.”

Releasing her, Sean catches her chin in his hand and meets her eyes one last time. “Sometimes,” he murmurs, “you really do frighten me.” Releasing her, he starts out the door.

Casey laughs. “I am my mother’s daughter!”

“Exactly!”


	10. Another Person Touching Your Skin With Cold Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing Prompt: another person touching your skin with cold hands 
> 
> Serafina MacKinnon and Sean MacKinnon

The Cove is empty when Sean arrives which surprises him. His twin is usually the first of them to be anywhere. _To be early is to be on time_. The words of their grandmother took deeper root with Serafina than with him. Still, he knows she will be here; he can wait.

He wanders over to the edge of the water, crouching down to take up a piece of driftwood that has floated to shore. He eyes it carefully, noting the deepness of the grooves, the way the water has worn it away. He is reminded of his grandfather back in Cliff’s Edge who has a talent for turning such things into beautiful pieces or instruments. _I wonder how granda is –?_ “AHHH!” He jumps with a start as something cold and unexpected connects with the bare skin around his neck and in the process, falls over onto the sand.

Soft giggle fill the air around him; he doesn’t need to see the face in front of him to know it’s her. “What are you doing?” he shouts, scrambling backwards in a mad crabwalk to get away from her, the driftwood forgotten.

Serafina cannot stop laughing. She bends at the waist and points at him. “You – you should have seen your face!” she gasps.

Sean frowns at her, rising to his feet now that there are a few feet between them. “Why must you _always_ –.”

“Not always,” she corrects. 

She takes a step toward him. Sean retreats another. For a long minute, the two stare at one another. In the next, they relax and draw closer. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulls her into a hug. “You are such an idiot,” he mutters as he ruffles her hair.

“And you are deaf,” she replies.

They separate again a moment later, on much easier terms now. Though Sean stares out at the sea once more, he can feel her eyes wandering over him, seeking, searching. “What is it?”

He sighs. Turning to face her, he says, “I will be leaving tomorrow for Ostagar.” Her breath catches the tiniest bit, but he hears it. 

“It’s really happening then?” she asks softly.

“You doubted it?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she insists. After all, they had both been in Denerim at the Landsmeet that decided this course of action. “I guess I just hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.”

Reaching out, Sean takes one of her hands in his. _Cold as ice … like always._ He squeezes it gently. “From what little I’ve heard, it is. The Arl’s men are supposed to arrive tomorrow. We’ll leave the morning after.” 

Silence surrounds them for several long minutes. Maker only knows what she is thinking; for Sean, it’s simple. _I will return._

“Have you written Mum yet?” she asks.

He reaches his hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “Sort of,” he replies. When she frowns, he adds, “I didn’t want to worry her.”

Serafina’s eyes narrow. “I will not write her for you,” she tells him.

Sean sighs again. _There goes that idea._ “Sera –.”

“No. I have my own things to worry about here.” She folds her arms across her chest stubbornly. 

Sean knows the look well. His shoulders drop in resignation as he reaches out, his hand catching behind her head. Leaning in toward her, he rests his forehead to hers. “I will finish it tonight.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” 

Her eyes dart up to meet his, a soft if worried smile at her lips. Her hand rises as his lowers, each cradling the other’s cheek. Their eyes shut, and for just a moment, they are one in the way that twins always are. 

When they step apart, the mood shifts. “Bet I can beat you back to the keep,” Sean says, winking at her.

Serafina snorts softly. “I’ll even give you a head start,” she returns, “but we both know I’ll win.”

As Sean starts off, he utilizes every single shortcut he’s found over his years here in Highever. _This_ time, he swears, he is going to beat her back…


	11. On the Edge of Consciousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing Prompt: On the edge of consciousness
> 
> Casey MacKinnon-Theirin

She is twenty and trained by the best that Ferelden has to offer. Quick of mind and movement, her skills are only surpassed by those who train her; Ser Michael, her mother, and her father. She has won a tourney or two in her own right, and the teyrn insists she is on the verge of her own knighthood …

She cannot believe she fell for such a simple trap. The cry of a child was worrisome no matter the time or place, and as one used to protecting her younger siblings, naturally she responded. Defenses focused in the wrong direction; it was far too late to respond when the world went dark around her.

_Pride goeth before a fall_ , Uncle Jamie always says, and oh, boy, her pride will suffer for this one moment of lapsed judgement, she has no doubts about that. _Stupidity, more like,_ she chides herself. _Forget Uncle Jamie, neither the teyrn nor Uncle Sean will ever let me forget this!_ She shudders to think what her mother’s response will be.

The passage of time is difficult to judge. Consciousness has come and gone at least twice, and she has skated the edge of that fine line ever since. Magic isn’t involved – the feel of that isn’t the same – though it does explain the fading in and out, as if someone recasts a spell when they notice her waking. Slowly, carefully, she draws in a deep breath through her nose and tries to clear the muzziness from her head. She is covered by a heavy tarp as she lies in the back of the wagon, but there is a hint of light that pushes though the canvas, and what little she can see is blurred. Her mouth is very dry, and feels like it has been stuffed with a ball of Mama’s knitting wool. 

A sudden, unexpected jolt of the cart as a wheel hits a bump or a stone nearly knocks the breath from her lungs. She slams her eyes shut as a cloud of dust shakes free from the wooden planks and rises around her face. There is little she can do at this point except listen …

Just beyond the edge of the tarp, she hears voices. The language is foreign but familiar enough, she decides after several challenging minutes of concentration. 

“… will she come?”

The laughter that follows the question sends an icy chill through her blood and is enough to raise the hairs along her arms. 

“To save her daughter? What do you think?”

She frowns and concentrates. There is something … _I know this voice!_ Casey does her best to relax and calm herself so she can focus further. Her ear for music works just as well for voices, and she is certain she has heard this one before today. But where?

The cart continues to rattle along the road. Another bump causes it to lurch drunkely, and her head thunks against the wood again. Thinking becomes difficult and her vision fades in and out once more …


	12. To Shut Them Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing Writing Prompt: To shut them up
> 
> Serafina MacKinnon and Alistair Theirin (set during the Blight)

The sound reaches her before her eyes open. It takes a long minute or two to realize the sound is actually a voice, and the voice belongs to Alistair. Warmth surrounds one hand, and the tickle of butterfly’s kiss …

Brows narrowing even before her eyes open, she hesitates. _Butterfly’s kiss? What …?_ The question, she sensation, is enough to push consciousness forward. With a light fluttering flicker, her eyes open. Her focus is all on him, but details of her surroundings filter in. They are not familiar … but they are warm. Safe. The crackle and pop of a fire nearby. The hint of dawn just outside the window. Drawing in a slow, deep breath, she waits for him to notice.

It takes longer than she expects. He sits on the floor beside her bed, head bowed over the hand he holds. His words, now distinguishable as one of the Chant verses, fill the air surrounding them. They are alone; he is oblivious. She runs her tongue over dry lips even as she curls the fingers he holds around his, tugging gently. “Alistair …?”

He is quick when he wants to be, she has seen it before in battle, but never so fast as his eyes dart up to meet hers now. “You …,” he whispers, eyes widening in awe, “you’re awake!”

She blinks, managed a small nod. It’s far easier than talking for now.

He visibly swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “You had a bad infection,” he explains, worry and relief warring over his face. “Wynne wasn’t sure if you would …” This time he hesitates, as if afraid to put it to words.

She smiles and tugs again. He leans in toward her. As he draws close, she pulls her hand from his and touches his cheek. A bit of brightness sparkles in his eyes. With extreme effort of will, she pushes herself up, closes the remaining distance and ghosts a kiss across his lips. “I will be fine,” she whispers. 

His hand slides around to support her head, gently guiding her back to the mattress. “I should go get Wynne –.”

Her hand moves around the back of his head and she pulls him toward her, their lips meeting a second time. “Later,” she says. “Just … stay for now.” 


	13. They Are Running Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing Writing Prompt: They are running out of time ...
> 
> Inquisitor Anaya Trevelyan and Cullen Rutherford

She stands alone in the war room, Frostback winds whipping wildly through the windows and toying with her hair … but Anaya Trevelyan is oblivious. With hands pressed tightly over her lips, she cannot tear her gaze away from the map before her. Each marker is a reminder of the places the Inquisition has been, the distance they have traveled, the challenges they have faced. Together. But that is not what holds her focus now. No, she is drawn to one narrow point where the inevitable conclusion to this months-long drawn out chess match will play out. To the beginning … the middle … and now, the end. 

_Haven._

_Shouts from behind closed doors. A horror-filled voice calling for help. Her choice of path was to avoid confrontation with a particular Templar, she thought, but now it almost seems as if the Maker himself manipulated her movements …._

_Joyous celebrations rudely interrupted by swooping terror from the skies above. The desperate reliance upon patience practiced for years at the Circle, for just the right moment to catch this Corypheus off guard, to trigger an avalanche and his destruction …_

Eyes wide as the memories shift and change like the tumultuous Waking Sea, Haven is, she decides, the one and only place in which this whole nightmare can truly end … but at what cost?

Already dimly lit, the light in the room fades a fraction as another candle sputters then flickers out. Anaya remains as she is; unmoving. Her eyes close, one particular memory seeking her out.

_The war room in Haven, an Inquisition declared, the discussion over who to seek out for aid, meeting his eyes for the first time and the fear that fills her …._

She draws in a sharp breath. So much has happened since then; they have both grown, learned how to move forward, how to work together …

A soft voice whispers in her ear as despondency attempts to take hold. It soothes and calms; it chases away the last vestiges of fear and at long last, she finds a semblance of peace … and hope.

Closed eyes flutter open and Anaya pulls her gaze free of the map. She searches the room quickly while paying particular attention to the shadowed recesses along the walls, but nothing. Her head tilts to the side and she listens closely, and still, nothing. Tentatively, she probes at the memories, but they lie still now, the old fear gone. Her lips curve into a smile. She knows who is behind it, who it _must_ be, and his watchful presence is reassuring. Her voice, but a whisper, echoes throughout the room, “Thank you, Cole.”

Corypheus has many ways in which to wage war, but she has Cole to watch out for her in ways that no one else can. Pulling the knife she always carries from its place in her boot, she jabs it through the map to the wood of the table beneath. It still vibrates from the effort as she turns and stalks toward the door, pulling it open. 

_It is time._

The halls are empty as she walks through and exits into Skyhold’s courtyard. The moon shines a bright path for her as she climbs to the battlements. With each step, she feels strength flow through her, determination. She is ready. _They_ are ready. But there is one last thing she must do.

The handle of the door chills her palm, but it is only for a moment as she slips inside his office. Three candles offer illumination over by his desk. Like her, he is awake, his attention on last minute battle tactics and changes in plan. But she also knows that, like her, it is merely an attempt at distraction. His head lifts as she nears, a smile fighting against fear in his golden eyes. “There you are,” he murmurs. “I thought you might be resting. Tomorrow will be –.”

_Resting._ As if she can without him around. She closes the distance between them and wraps one arm around his shoulders. With the other, she frames his cheek, ignores the tickling sensation of the scruff on his face against her palm, and guides his lips to hers. Not for the first time, she initiates a kiss between them. Her heart races wildly; this is still too new to simply just accept. Still, she cannot, _will_ not, hide from him what she feels now that she knows it is returned. Strength wraps around her, holds her steady and does not push her away. 

The touch breaks when she does falter slightly. Their difference in height isn’t great, but it is enough to make situations like this a challenge, and he settles her on top of his desk with practiced ease. Their breath mingles as they stare into one another’s eyes for a long, quiet moment. “Not that I am complaining,” he finally manages while at the same time threading his fingers through her hair, “but may I ask what that was for?”

Already tanned cheeks darken slightly with a hint of heat and she drops her gaze. “Dawn will soon be upon us,” she replies. Tilting her head up again, she adds, “Our time is running out…”


	14. Out of Greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kissing writing prompt: Out of greed (character of choice)
> 
> Serafina MacKinnon and unnamed gentleman

As their lips pull apart, his breath fanning across her cheeks while she simply stares up at him, Serafina comes to several conclusions. First, he tastes as sweet as the wine they are drinking. And second, she cannot deny that his kisses spark something … more inside of her. Her eyelashes flutter as they lift, her lips curve in a half-smile. The ballroom around them could be empty for all she knows, but she takes a quick look around. She is content with their current location; most of those in the room have no interest in the two of them, but those who do have their eyes upon them as she hoped. 

With a teasing laugh, she asks him, “Are you always so forward with ladies you have just met?”

His laughter, she decides, is as sweet as his kisses. “You are the most beautiful woman in the room,” he replies as if it is the most obvious thing in Orlais. 

She winks at him, her smile still in place. “Or, perhaps, you are simply greedy?”

Another laugh fills the space between them. “Perhaps,” he agrees with a slight bow of his head. “Does that trouble you?”

She tilts her head to the side just a bit and keeps her eyes upon his lips all while she lifts a hand to run her forefinger along the side of his jaw from ear to chin; a delicate and simple touch, yet one that he reacts to with a slight shiver. Her eyes shift upward, her smile broadening at the desire she sees behind them. Leaning in, she whispers near his ear, “It only troubles me that you beat me to it …”


	15. Your Hair's Soft ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> writing prompt: Your hair's soft ... I just want to pet it until I forget everything but how soft it is ...
> 
> Casey MakKinnon-Theirin and Sean MacKinnon

❛❛ Your hair’s soft… I just want to pet it until I forget everything but how soft it is… ❜❜

A soft snicker echoes from the far side of the kennel, but Casey ignores it and continues stroking the pup lying across her lap. The snicker eventually fades, but the footsteps of its owner grow louder until they come to a stop just outside of the stall. “Dogs have fur, Casey, not hair,” Uncle Sean observes as he leans against the wall.

She ignores him. Bad days don’t come often, but when they do, she often finds herself in odd places simply trying to find a way to move beyond. Today, it happens to be the kennels. Normally, she avoids them; she doesn’t want to face Uncle Fergus’ wrath for bonding with one, but this particular pup is older and refuses to bond. “Go away, uncle,” she says after a time, putting as much force behind her words as she can. 

Sadly, it doesn’t work, and the next thing she knows, her uncle is crouching down next to her. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He reaches a hand out, lets the pup sniff his hand, and then pets it. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that incident in the training yard today, does it?”

Sighing in exasperation, she glares at her uncle. “I don’t want to talk about it!” Her fingers continue to stroke the pup behind the ear. The animal is a big pile of Millie’s jellied berries on Casey’s lap by this point and pays no attention to the spat between uncle and niece.

Sean reaches over and tucks his finger beneath her chin, tilting it up just enough so their eyes meet. “You know it had to happen.”

She scowls. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she mutters as she yanks her head free of his touch. 

Dropping to sit, Sean drapes his arms around his drawn up knees. “He was a danger to you all – pages, squires and knights alike. No matter how much training he took, he put himself and the rest of us all at risk.” He sighs. “The decision was not made lightly, you do know that, yes?”

Casey’s hands stop and she looks over at her uncle. She doesn’t envy him his position as second to the teyrn, as the one responsible for the training of Highever’s troops, as her uncle. More times than not, they came into conflict with one another, and he is left in an awkward position.

The hound lifts its paw over Casey’s arm in an attempt to draw her attentions back to it. For the first time since that afternoon, a smile curves at her lips. She gives the hound one last scratch before standing. Sean rises with her. “He was my friend,” she says simply.

Sean opens his arms and waits for her to walk into the embrace. “I know,” he admits quietly, genuine sorrow in his tone. 


	16. Everything Hurts.  Being With You Is the Only Good Thing In the World Anymore.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> writing prompt: Everything hurts. Being with you is the only good thing in the world anymore.
> 
> (mage) Anaya Trevelyan and Cullen Rutherford

❛❛ Everything hurts. Being with you is the only good thing in the world anymore. ❜❜

She stands in the middle of the room when she makes that pronouncement, and Cullen cannot move. “I –.”

Her eyes focused upon his, Anaya walks toward him, but she stops with a few feet remaining. “You understand now the reason I asked you and Cassandra to –?”

Her voice drifts off as their eyes meet. In them, he sees the hurt she has tried so valiantly to hide from everyone since her brothers’ arrival with the delegation from the Free Marches. With all she has been through, it is a wonder to him that she can even face the three men who carry the same blood. 

“I do,” he replies quietly as he reaches out his hand and caresses the side of her cheek and jaw. Her hand rises to cover his as she leans into the touch. He closes the gap between them by one step and then another and he is just about to pull her into his arms when he hears footsteps climbing to the room. Their growing relationship is hardly the best kept secret around Skyhold, particularly among those who have access to her chambers at the moment, but there are times that the _attempt_ at discretion is more important than the actual achievement.

“Inquisitor?”

She jumps, but the voice is a familiar one. There is no risk in exposure now, and Cullen gently cradles her close while Anaya slides hers arms around his waist. “Yes, Cassandra?” she murmurs, her voice slightly muffled by his mantle.

“Your family is being escorted out of Skyhold and down the mountain with instruction never to return,” the Seeker announces firmly. In the next moment, she adds more gently, “I feel I should apologize for not –.”

Anaya cuts her off before she can finish. “No apologies, Cassandra.” 

“But, if I had taken your warnings more seriously,” the Seeker protests, “this situation might have been avoided entirely.”

Anaya pulls free so she can focus her attention on Cassandra, and for just a moment, Cullen feels bereft. 

“One way or another, it would have happened,” Anaya insists. “The fault is not yours.” She pauses a moment, concern growing as her brows narrow into a v-shape. “How are they?” 

Cassandra glances over at him first, and Cullen notices she is fighting to hide something; what, he cannot say. “We lost two people,” she explains. “Four others are injured but received attention quickly and should survive. And you?”

Anaya’s lips tighten into a thin line. While she had been the main target, Dorian saw to her injuries while quickly escorting her away from the fray. “I will live.” She looks up at Cullen again and the tight line eases into a hint of a smile. She reaches out a hand and takes his in it, squeezing tightly. “I will live.”


	17. In a rush of adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing Prompt: In a rush of adrenaline
> 
> Serafina MacKinnon and Alistair Theirin
> 
> set sometime during the Blight after they've established their relationship

“Ogre!”

Oghren’s warning, from the far side of the battlefield, catches Alistair off guard and by the time he finishes dealing with the genlock he’s been tangling with and can turn to identify the threat, it’s too late. A sharp, arcing pain lances through his lungs and for just a moment he’s afraid he might lose consciousness as he watches Serafina leap onto the creature’s back and jab in with her blades. He’s only seen one other person do that in actual combat, and his remains lie somewhere among all the others that cover the remnants that were once Ostagar.

Aedan, he sees, has stopped to stare with horrified fascination. He is a bit closer to them distance-wise, but no less affected so far as Alistair can tell. Oghren and Sten are trying to distract it, to keep its attention from the rogue slowly climbing it’s back, but it isn’t paying attention. Aedan lets out a bellowing roar before running forward, his blade and shield at the ready; Alistair is a step behind him. He makes it halfway there before the ogre manages to connect with Serafina and swats her away as if she is as insignificant as a fly. “No!”

The ogre is all that’s left to bring down, but Alistair is torn. Oghren, Sten and Aedan all work at bringing the beast down with assistance from Wynne, Leliana and Morrigan, but their combined efforts only bring them into a stalemate with it. They _need_ his help. A quick glance in Serafina’s direction assures him Zevran is there and will do what he can, and so he continues on.

The ogre finally drops with a ground-shaking thud some minutes later. Alistair, out of breath and aching all over, pauses to catch his breath. He is hunched over, his arms across his thighs as he heaves in air, when he feels the warm, familiar wave of healing energy wash over him. The relief it brings is momentary only, as he remembers Serafina. Aedan seems to remember about the same time, too, as he shouts, “Fina!” and turns to run in her direction. 

She lies on the ground, limp with eyes closed when they arrive, with Zevran kneeling beside her. In his hand is an empty health potion; the telltale stain at her lips is enough to prove the elf has attempted to assist. Alistair pushes him aside none too gently and drops to his knees. Reaching for her, he carefully rolls her into his arms while murmuring her name over and over again. Aedan shouts for Wynne, but Alistair cannot be bothered to look to see if the mage responds; all he knows is his heart is racing at the thought of having finally found love with her only to have it ripped away.

From one second to the next, Serafina’s body convulses; she coughs painfully several times and her blue eyes flutter open. “Sera?” he manages in a whisper, but he can tell she hears as her lips curve into a reassuring smile. With only that for a response, he draws her close to his chest, finds her lips with his, and kisses her thoroughly before retreating enough to press his forehead to hers. Her blue eyes sparkle with understanding and he takes one of her hands in his and squeezes. “Don’t ever frighten me like that again, woman!” he hisses softly, but there is a half-laugh in it as well.

She tightens her hand around his briefly before pulling from his grasp. At first, he’s afraid she disapproves of his reaction, but the hand then finds its way around his neck where she can use it to help lift her closer. His hands slide around her waist to help her balance just as she returns the favor. When she pulls back, the sparkle is now one of mischief. “No promises if it means I’ll come back to such an enthusiastic welcome,” she teases.

Alistair groans as she tosses his dry humor back at him. He deserves it, he knows it, just as he knows she doesn’t really mean it. The adrenaline rush now fading, he presses one last, gentle kiss to her forehead, muttering, “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that, don’t you?”

Her laugh evolves into more coughing just as Wynne walks up ….


	18. Snowball Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> writing prompt: snowball fight
> 
> Serafina MacKinnon, Alistair Theirin, Aedan Cousland
> 
> Dragon Age Origins
> 
> Art by [xla-hainex](https://xla-hainex.tumblr.com/) on tumblr

_Frostback Mountains near Haven_

The skies darken, appear more threatening, the higher they climb. Serafina snuggles deeper into her cloak and tucks her scarf closer around her neck. There are advantages to growing up in the northern part of the country; being used to the winter cold is not one of them. 

“Hey, Fina?”

She glances ahead and to her left in Aedan’s direction. “Hmm?”

She’s met by a face full of snow as it strikes home right between her eyes. 

She doesn’t miss the soft gasps that fill the air around her – Wynne, definitely; Alistair and Leliana, most likely; possibly even Zevran – but she ignores them for the time being. 

As the snow slides down her face, some of it falling to the ground, the rest trickling between the crevices of her armor, her gaze locks onto Aedan’s. His smug smirk. The sparkle of mischief in his eyes. A glitter of retaliation sparks in hers. 

From one heartbeat to the next, she drops her pack to the ground and scoops up a handful of snow. She ducks another – he _always_ has two prepared when he starts a fight – and rolls to her right out of the line of fire. Chuckling, she ends up in a low crouch as she launches her missile at him. She has to recalculate her aim at the last second when Sten gets too close, either unwilling to move out of the way or just that oblivious, but she still nails Aedan in his left shoulder. _Hard_. She might not have the strength of a warrior, but she has _years_ of snowball fighting tactics against this man in particular memorized. 

But it all goes to the Void when an unexpected missile drills her solidly right between her shoulder blades. Stunned that someone else has entered the fray, she turns … to find Alistair grinning at her. “Why?” she asks as she walks over to him while brushing the snow off herself and ignoring Aedan’s next hit against her hip. 

The Warden warrior shrugs. “It looked like fun?” A soft, hopeful lopsided smile crosses his lips.

“Fun.” Another snowball pelts her against her left shoulder this time. Again, she ignores it, still staring up at him. 

“Uh … yes?”

“Hey, Fina!”

Her lips curve a moment later, but her focus is still fully on Alistair. “Is he walking this way yet?” she asks softly, just loud enough for the warrior to hear. 

“Yes?” 

The look of confusion on his features is adorable, almost as adorable as the lopsided grin. “Thank you.” Spinning around, she launches the last snowball she has in her hand, tightly compacted while speaking with Alistair. She has a half second to take aim, but finds Aedan easily, his darker features easy to determine against the snowy backdrop. 

It lands on his nose, splattering across his face. 

Turning back to Alistair, she leans up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek. “Thanks for the help,” she says, giving him a wink before moving off to collect her gear. As she walks past Aedan, she claps him on the shoulder. “Better luck next time, Shield.”

“Hey, I got you fair and square there,” he protests as he swipes snow out of his eyes. 

She grins and continues walking. 

Alistair frowns when his fellow Warden approaches but his gaze still trails after Serafina. “What just happened?”

Aedan sighs as he chuckles ruefully. “She turned my own tactics against me, dammit,” he mutters, but there is deep respect in his tone.

“But, you said –.”

“I know what I said.” He sighs again. “You were supposed to distract her … and you did,” he assures his friend. “What I didn’t count on was her figuring it out so quickly and turning it back around on me.” 

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Alistair starts after her. Aedan stops him. “Don’t worry, she won’t hold it against you; she knows exactly what happened.”

“I wish I did …”


	19. Come back here right now!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> writing prompt: Come back here right now!
> 
> Alistair Theirin, Serafina MacKinnon-Theirin, Casey MacKinnon-Theirin
> 
> Setting - Post Blight sometime, in Denerim Palace

As Serafina MacKinnon-Theirin steps out of the library, favorite tome in hand, her plans for a peaceful, uninterrupted afternoon spent sitting out in the gardens beneath the gentle late-spring sun go up in a puff of smoke. A glance to her right brings her face to face with her husband, thundering through the hallway. “Hello, my love!” he gasps, slowing just enough to kiss her cheek as he runs past, then shouts on ahead of him, “Casey, you come back here right now!”

Peals of uncontrolled giggles echo out of eyesight, fading rapidly. Serafina pauses, watching as Alistair speeds up, chasing after their daughter for some unknown reason. “Alistair?”

“I’ve got this, Love! Not to worry!” he shouts back over his shoulder before darting around the corner to his left. 

Serafina cringes when she hears a loud clatter and a quick, “I’m all right!” 

Slipping back into the library with a sigh, she walks across the room and steps out through the north side doorway. Just in time, too, as she turns to her right, opens her arms and scoops up her five-year-old daughter. “Cassandra Theresia MacKinnon-Theirin,” she scolds gently, tweaking the child’s nose, “what mischief are you up to, my darling?”

Casey bites her lip, looks up into her mother’s eyes, and simply giggles. Before Serafina can repeat her question, Alistair stumbles to their side. “Ah,” he pants, out of breath, “th-there you are!”

Serafina leans over to kiss his cheek, reciprocating his earlier attention. “Care to explain, my Love?”

Alistair has the decency to look sheepish. “Just … just a game,” he assures her. Reaching over, he hefts Casey into his arms, hugging her tightly and mock-roaring. “I am the high dragon of Denerim!” he declares before turning back down the hallway. “And you are now my supper! Ahahahaha!” 

Still giggling, Casey squeals, “No! Papa dragon, don’t eat me!!!”

Serafina nearly laughs aloud at their antics, only her years of training keep it reined in. “Um, oh, high dragon of Denerim?” she calls after them.

The pair pause, both looking back at her in surprise, clearly forgetting she was there in the first place.

Serafina points back over her shoulder. “The kitchens are that way?”


End file.
